


covet

by idolatry (bellmare)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bonding over food, Creepy Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellmare/pseuds/idolatry
Summary: Existentialism and chill, which is totally what the kids these days are into.Or, a creepy dragon monster attempts to flirt with the object of her affections.Attempts tobeing the key operative words.-- Ymir/Val.





	covet

**Author's Note:**

> I'M FUCKING LAUGHING what kinda tag is 'creepy fluff'. I guess this does sorta count, though.
> 
> I guess I've realised that if I really wanted to, I can make people talk for-fucking-ever.

“You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Val said and smoothed down her dress despite herself. A smirk flickered across Ymir’s face.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

Val’s hands stilled. “What, I can’t even dress up a little on a weekend? Maybe I had plans before. Or plans for afterwards.”

“ _Plans_ ,” Ymir repeated, and snorted. “Right. Anyway, that’s hardly any excuse. You’re _late_.” Her voice was accusatory; she crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her forearm. “You sure know how to keep me waiting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Val said and shifted the gift bag and basket to her other hand; she didn’t miss Ymir’s eyes honing in on the movement, tracking her hands with keen anticipation. “Your day’s ruined. I can leave, then.”

“What, no.” Ymir unfolded her arms, then seemed to be at a slight loss for what to do with them, and settled for lacing her fingers together behind her back. She craned her head slightly, trying to peek behind Val’s back. “Where’s my breakfast?”

“You sure act entitled about things,” Val said. “Who told you to get used to free breakfast every Sunday?”

“You did, of course,” Ymir said. “Can you blame me for having a Pavlovian response to your arrival every week, heralded as it is by the sweet, sugary smell of fresh pastries? Though,” she added, “that delightful scent is rather lacking today. Hmm, but I guess I appreciate some of your company, too.”

Val frowned. “Put a sock in it. All those gushy flowery proclamations aren’t fooling anyone,” Val said. Then, she relented. “But that’s nice of you to say, even if we both know you’re faking it. You sure know how to make people feel appreciated.” She turned back towards the elevator, checking her access cards again. When she glanced over her shoulder, Ymir was still staring at her, looking slightly bewildered.

“Wait, where are you going?” Ymir asked; perhaps Val was imagining it, but she sounded almost hurt. “I thought this was our weekly thing. Just you and me. I thought we had something special.”

“It is and we do,” Val said, far more brusquely than she intended. “Come on, get going. It took all the strings I could pull and all the favours I could curry for this.”

Ymir’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”

“Giving you a little holiday.” The elevator arrived silently, doors sliding open with a low hum of machinery. “Think of it as ... you get a little break for today, for good behaviour.”

“Ooooh,” Ymir said, but made no move to step forwards. “Interesting. I wonder what good behaviour they could possibly be referring to? If anything, that just makes it seem like I’m not doing a good enough job of antagonising the powers that be.”

“Hey, I had to play loose and fast and hard with the good behaviour angle, give me some credit,” Val said, but Ymir ignored her.

“But really, do they trust me that much? To free me from the constraints of the Sanctum?” When Val didn’t reply, her smile broadened by degrees. “So, what happens when I step out of this imaginary line in the sand? What will it be, drawn and quartered, skewered like a bug on a pin?”

“No,” Val said. “Nothing like that. You’re not even going that far. I can’t curry that much favour, and nobody wants to risk losing you.”

“Losing me,” Ymir echoed. “How funny. What an interesting way to put it. Still, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth like that.”

Regardless, Val could see the whole line of her body tensing as she took a step towards the elevator, then another. She reached out and held on to Val’s arm as the doors slid shut; her fingers were cold, her grip unnaturally strong, “Where are we going?” she asked at last, not taking her eyes off the level indicator as they flicked past several unmarked floors. Val followed her gaze, too; they’d been stuck at _S_ for a long time, though she could feel her ears starting to pop from the air pressure.

“Not far,” Val said. She glanced down at the steel plates of the floor. “I don’t have that much sway here.”

“You have sway where it matters,” Ymir replied. “That’s all that counts.”

Val pursed her lips. She glanced up at the floor indicator again; the _S_ on the readout had finally changed to _LB3_. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I know,” Ymir said with a trace of smugness. “It’s what makes you endearing. On one hand, we had our dear, mutual, dearly departed friend. May she rest in peace, blah blah, some rubbish like that. She always felt too much emotion, always showed her heart too plainly on her sleeve. I guess that’s why he liked her, too. They’d have been good for each other, if they both eventually got over themselves enough to stop tripping awkwardly around everything.” She smiled slyly, showing the small, neat rows of her teeth. “She sure was popular, even amongst others. I guess she had a certain look going for her, a certain vibe she gave off that made people want to protect her or junk like that. That, and they could feel that aura she had. It’s hard not to pick up on the strength of her power and potential.”

She was still studying Val. Val, refusing to be baited, settled for staring stonily at the elevator readout some more. Also refusing to be deterred, Ymir continued on. “And then on the other hand, we had you. Dense and dumb as a brick. But you were _her_ brick. And you can’t build a foundation without bricks. And without bricks and a foundation, you can't build a home. Something like that.” Ymir frowned, rubbing her chin with her free hand. “Something something, home is where the heart is.”

Val didn’t respond. The elevator finally stopped at _C_. Concourse. Val stepped smartly out, then stopped when she realised Ymir didn’t follow. “What’s the matter now?”

“Nothing.” Ymir made no attempt to move. “It’s just that ... I never thought I’d get to see the outside again. Not like this. Not in the daytime. Not when it’s not for some high-priority wetworks or whatever.” She hadn’t let go of Val’s wrist. “The only way I ever thought myself seeing the outside world again was with, I dunno, an escort of summoner grand adepts all ready to skewer me with restraining and containment spells if I did anything so much as sneeze. And all I’d get to do is go out, crush some enemy we’re having a tiny spot of bother with, and then it’s back in the slammer with me.”

The lift doors hummed, easing shut. Startled, Ymir skipped clear just before they closed, then abruptly let go of Val’s hand. “Where to?” she asked at last, not quite looking at Val. Val’s wrist smarted; Ymir had held on crushingly tight. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the faint imprint of fingers already beginning to redden. “I already told you. I can’t take you out, so it’s just gonna be the central courtyard. Hope you don’t mind. It’s nice and sunny out today, I hope you don’t spontaneously combust, or something.”

“Har, har, you’re a barrel of laughs.” Ymir squinted as they made their way through the sliding doors, shielding her eyes with her hand. “Oh, god, why, it’s so bright.”

“Told you.” Val led the way to the central courtyard, stopping near one of the stone benches that faced the fountain. It wasn’t running today; a motley assortment of crows and pigeons perched atop the carved stonework, heads nestled under their wings. Val set down the things she was carrying and edged closer for a better look; some of the birds stirred, turning their heads to look squarely at her.

She liked this fountain a lot more than the one out in front of the Bureau building, which had all manners of angels carved into it. It was probably supposed to be some elaborate -- and hamfisted -- metaphor about the Bureau being a shining beacon of good or something, the effulgent guiding light that slayed the evil of demons and witches. Perhaps in a way it still made sense; Val never went to church and only barely remembered anything she’d learnt from Scripture, but what she did recall was that angels were meant to be monstrous in appearance and inhuman in comprehension. As things stood now, they weren’t that far from the truth.

The fountain in the courtyard was a somewhat more subdued affair, decorated with the four guardians of the directions arranged around a central pillar carved to resemble a tree. The water inside the bowl of the fountain was cloudy -- though still clear enough for Val to see the inlaid mosaic tiles arranged at the bottom, shaped in the nodes of a simple summoning schematic. Withered leaves floated on the top of the water, borne across the surface by the slight stirring of wind. She could see other things on the water, too -- insect husks and scattered flower petals, seed-casings and loose feathers. Most incongruously, she saw some coins glittering at the bottom of the fountain. Who else in the Bureau had time -- and hope -- to be bartering for wishes?

A shadow fell in the water next to her. Ymir had wandered over to the fountain, perching on the edge of the carved stone rim. She stuck her hand into the water and Val froze, remembering all-too-late the connection between demons and water. But surely nothing would happen here; the Bureau wouldn’t fill their fountains with spiritually-charged water ... or would they?

She flinched when Ymir flicked water at her face. “What’s the matter?” Ymir asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. It’s only water, geez.”

When Val didn’t reply, Ymir plunged her hand into the water, her arm sinking in until it was more than elbow-deep. Without taking her eyes off Val, she scooped out something from the bottom and flicked it -- small and glistening -- into the air. Val reached out and caught it by instinct, hand closing around a small, round shape. She opened her palm and studied the coin there; it was unusually large and heavy -- and perhaps even an old one, the features on the metal almost worn smooth by age; she could just barely make out the shape of numbers, denoting a date. Who had this coin belonged to? Had it been someone catching a quick lunch or smoke break in the middle of the day, looking to get rid of some spare change? Had it been someone working overtime or were they someone on night shift, trying to wish they could go home?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Ymir’s voice was alarmingly close, her lips brushing against Val’s cheek. Val leaned away irritably, feeling her heart beating double-time in her throat. “Go sit down before I change my mind and leave you here. And don’t take anything else out from the fountain.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ymir said, but obediently followed her to the bench anyway. “You wouldn’t be that irresponsible to leave me out in the open like this. Why, I could even go free.”

“But wasn’t that why you decided to honour and remember her?” Val asked softly, so softly she almost couldn’t hear herself. She scraped her thumbnail against the ridged edge of the coin, back and forth, back and forth. “Because she set you free?”

Ymir raised her eyebrows. “Sorry, what was that? You need to speak up a bit.”

“Nothing,” Val said. “You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, anyway. The entire Bureau grounds are--"

“Sealed, yes.” Ymir leaned back in the seat, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I know. I mean, it’s all just wishful thinking, anyway. I know they wouldn’t let me out without taking the right precautions. This entire place is more warded than bad dragon jail.”

Val blinked. “B-bad dragon jail?” she repeated uncertainly. “What’s that?”

Ymir waved dismissively. “Where I’ve been living for the past few years, duh. Calling it the Sanctum sounds too pretentious, and I’m sure the Director wouldn’t particularly enjoy me calling it _bad dragon jail._ ” She chuckled and stared down at the cobbled ground, scuffing the toes of her shoes against a large paving-stone beneath the bench. It was intricately carved with the Bureau insignia -- a winged, two-headed snakelike thing coiled around a set of scales, the tripartite sign of the adept floating above its heads. The central pillar of the scales tapered upwards, skewering the heads of the snake, rising through the top of its skull in sharp, symmetrical points meant to emulate the bare, topmost branches of some kind of tree. “Lovely, isn’t it?” Ymir asked, scraping her shoe across the sigil far more insistently. “I guess you wouldn’t be able to see it, now, but each of these lovely feature paving stones form the connective nodes of a very large and nasty confinement schematic. It’s really quite devious. I take it from your expression you didn’t know,” she added before Val could open her mouth. “I mean, it’s not like you have any reason to call up good ol’ Alphard in a supposedly _safe_ space like this.”

The last few words she spat with the venom of a serpent’s hiss. “Just like there’s no reason to check the planes here.”

“I guess it makes sense,” Val said, staring down at the insignia as well. The coin slipped out of her grasp as she was fiddling with it, clinking as it bounced along the paving-stones. Ymir stuck out her foot and intercepted it before it could roll away, then stooped to pick it up. She held it out to Val, but Val shook her head. “I guess that schematic is why I always felt like a big weight was lifted off my shoulders when I left the grounds. I always just thought it was because I couldn’t wait to be free from work.”

“Devious magic,” Ymir said, sandwiching the coin between her palms. She held it that way for a few seconds, hands joined as though in prayer. Val felt the hysterical urge to laugh.

After a few moments, Ymir balanced the coin on top of her thumb, and flicked it into the air. Val watched as she did this a few more times, the demon dexterously catching the coin each time without looking. “Old and subtle,” Ymir continued, still tossing the coin. “It’s hard to see, unless you have Heruka eyes. Even if you scanned the planes -- Alphard wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.”

Val laced her fingers together in her lap and stared down at them. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to take you out somewhere, for once. I mean, I knew they’d have lots of wards all around the Bureau compounds, just ... well, not like this.”

“Hmm. It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s not as if I was expecting anything better, anyway.” Ymir leaned across, and plucked up Val’s hand. She rested her fingers -- far more gently, this time -- on the faint red marks she’d left earlier. “I’m sorry too,” she said. “For hurting you.”

“What, that?” Val shook her head. “That was nothing.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ymir said, still staring intently at Val’s wrist. Val waited for her to continue, but she didn’t elaborate further. Uncomfortable at the silence they’d subsided into -- for it _was_ pretty uncomfortable, not having Ymir fill the space between them with all manners of inane chatter -- she rummaged in the basket she’d brought, then placed a bounty of small pastry boxes on Ymir’s lap. Ymir stared down at them, still holding on to Val’s hand. “What’re those?”

“Brunch,” Val said, more brusquely than she intended. “You were complaining so much earlier. As if I’d even think about showing up empty-handed.”

“My, my.” Ymir caught the coin one last time, and slipped it into her pocket. She picked one box up, peeking through the clear plastic window on the lid. “I could really get used to it, what with you always plying me with such wonderful tributes.”

Val chewed on the inside of her cheek, annoyed. “... can it. You’re already used to it. You’re so spoilt.”

“I never said you _had_ to, though,” Ymir pointed out. “You started of your own volition.” She lowered her lashes, the beginnings of a smile -- sly and coy -- sliding along her mouth. “Sweet treats and even sweeter company,” she purred. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Val felt the tips of her ears burning. “Shut up and eat your food.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ymir opened one of the boxes and made a loud noise of appreciation. “Macarons! Wow, you really went all out.” Instead of eating them, however, she closed the box up again and set it to the side. “Saving the best for last,” she explained when Val stared at her. “Must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

“I’m friends with the manager,” Val said. “And I said this was going to be a gift for my ... for my ... for my friend,” she finished, trailing off. Thankfully, Ymir seemed to be far more preoccupied with the food.

“Is that so? My, my.” Ymir hummed, opening up another box. Inside she found dainty little finger sandwiches, with the crusts cut off. “Should I be jealous? I mean, the word _friend_ has a very broad meaning in your dictionary. You’re _friends_ with Lavi. You thought of Mistilteinn as a _friend_. We’re _friends_.”

When Val didn’t reply, she sighed. “I’m just joking, of course. You’re free to be friends with whoever you want, or have, ahem, relations with whoever you want. I’m not judging.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Val snapped. “She’s just a friend.”

“Good choice in friend, then,” Ymir said, sounding far too neutral. She opened up one of the sandwiches, and set about picking out clumps of tiny cress leaves. “Especially if they can provide you with a delectable high tea spread such as this.” Satisfied with the results of her greenery segregation, she closed the sandwich back up and stuffed the entire thing into her mouth. “I must say, it _is_ quite nice out here, undercurrent of binding magic and charming décor notwithstanding,” she said with her mouth full. “It sure beats bad dragon jail. It’s so dreary down there. At least up here you can see the sun shining and feel the wind in your face, you can see all the life and greenery around and it feels great. You can also hear the birds singing, you can hear the distant traffic and think, ‘ah, yes, this is somewhere where time hasn’t come to a standstill'. And ...” She gestured out towards the fountain. “And see the pigeons crapping. Ain’t that lovely. Still more entertaining than being stuck with Ajna, though. He doesn’t even talk to me! He just snores a lot. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how annoying it is trying to sleep or do something or mind your own damn business, only to have some grandpa tooting his snoring trumpet for the entire world to hear?”

Val didn’t know what an appropriate response to that would be. “Uh ... no?” she hazarded.

It seemed to be the correct answer, because Ymir snorted. “Good, keep it that way. It’s not a fate I would wish on my worst enemy.” She picked up another sandwich, inspected it for vegetables, and deemed the delicate slivers of tomato suitable for eating. “So, well, thanks, I guess. Real nice of you to treat me to afternoon tea. Even if the atmosphere could use some work, and we’re sorely lacking in the tea department.”

“I can remedy that,” Val said, and rummaged in the basket again, this time producing a thermos. “It’s all yours. I also bought you some tea, in case you want to brew anything on your own. Well, uh. I’ll bring you the hot water, I guess. Or Nagi will.”

“Mm, thanks. You’re always so thoughtful, no matter how prickly you like to make yourself seem.” Ymir brushed crumbs from her fingertips and unscrewed the thermos, breathing in the steam. “Hmmm, smells nice.”

“It’s supposed to be crème brulee tea,” Val said. “I found a new artisan tea shop.”

“Did you? Hmm.” Ymir poured a little out and took a sip, and pouted. “You got conned. It doesn’t taste like crème brulee.”

“Needs some sugar. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted.” Val held out a few takeaway sugar sachets, and decided to watch without comment as Ymir added the entire lot into the thermos, closed up the lid, and shook vigorously. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re ... a demon now,” she said after a long pause. “All that sugar isn’t good for you.”

“I guess what you’re saying is, it’s a good thing she isn’t around anymore,” Ymir said, picking up another sandwich.

Val bristled. “I didn’t say that.”

“I know, but I also know what you mean. In a way, I guess it was also a relief to you that you didn’t have to deal with those feelings about her anymore, huh? But then, oops, I showed up.” Ymir stared at her, as though expecting a reply. “In my defence, I didn’t know you were so torn up about it. I mean, I knew what she thought of you, but I guess I wasn’t sure whether it’d be mutual. I didn’t mean to shake you up so much by showing up with her face, you know.” She shook her head, tossing her pale hair over her shoulder. “I just felt it was time I honoured her a little. Seeing as how I’d probably have been the only person to remember her fondly, after all the carnage she caused leading up to her ... my ... hm. _Our_ event horizon.”

Done with the sandwiches, Ymir flattened up the packaging, unfolding it neatly along the seams. “It’s a shitty way to go, and I didn’t really want to do it,” she said, studiously running her thumbnail along a crease. She folded it into a razor edge, then tore along the seam. “In the end, the only reason I did it was out of respect to her. She wanted an exit. I didn’t really care. It felt like doing her a last favour, giving her some semblance of freedom before the end. Just like what she did to and for me, I guess. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“You said ...” Val fell silent, her voice breaking a little. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You said it’s a shitty way to go. Then why did you do it? Why did you let her throw everything away?”

Ymir gazed pityingly at her as she set down the triangles of cardboard she’d disassembled the packaging into. Without Val’s prompting, she stuck her hand into the basket and brought out another box, this one slightly stained with oil. For several seconds she didn’t say anything, satisfied with surveying the contents before picking out a cold savoury tart, the cool shortcrust pastry crumbling a little in her fingers. It wasn’t until she’d finished the miniature quiche that she spoke again.

“I just told you. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Not unless you’d been driven to the same corners. In that sense, you got off lucky.” Ymir shrugged. “Not being from that illustrious a pedigree. Not having the witch lineage burning as strongly in your veins. More than anything, she was scared of going batshit crazy, and losing herself while being somewhat aware of it. It’d already started, you know.”

“What?”

“It’d started. The mental deterioration. Granted, I’d never seen or witnessed anything like that before.” Ymir hummed thoughtfully, resting her index finger on her lower lip. “It starts small, but then it snowballs. By the time our event horizon began, our minds were already in the same place, and I could barely tell where I ended and where she began. For all intents and purposes, we had become one. There wouldn’t have been any saving her. The witch heritage, the contractor madness, it all came together very conveniently.” She broke off, staring into the distance. “Very, very conveniently,” she repeated, softer and more slowly this time. “I dare say, I never asked about her past or her family, but that witch heritage always felt alarmingly close. Like any misstep would’ve pulled her in, much earlier. It felt like a slow and steady undertow, dragging her -- and me -- deeper and deeper down, but I never paid any heed to it. I thought it was all me.”

“She was ... she was from a prestigious family,” Val said. Or at least, that’s what she thought. That’s what she’d been told. “The witch heritage is never really that far back, with them.”

“You misunderstand,” Ymir said. “I’ve seen my share of thaumaturgists. I’ve worked with a witch or two. This connection and vulnerability to the Spine, it’s not something any thaumaturgist would’ve had. If anything, I think our pact deepened it, and she paid for it.” She laughed, soft and tired. “I guess you really can blame me for her death, then. How great, huh? In the end, it all comes back to me.”

“It’s ... not like you could’ve controlled it,” Val ventured cautiously. What had her life and world come to, consoling a demon?

“Mm, no,” Ymir agreed, still lost in thought. “If anything, it’s whoever pushed her along this path. The shortest path to going berserk and falling to the Sway of the Spine’s madness. Unusual. And very curious. It’s no secret that witches, especially those from powerful lineages, go insane eventually. They would be the ones most susceptible to rebirth as a karma demon. And likewise, it’s no secret that thaumaturgists who become demon contractors fall to the demon’s madness and hunger, too. Interesting. Very interesting. I’ve never thought about it before. How could I not?” She shook her head impatiently, as though irritated with herself. “I have all the time in the world to think, and nothing better to do. If anything, I’ve been doing nothing but remember.” She broke off, looking Val squarely in the eye. “In that sense, we’re not that different, as much as it pains me to admit it. Looks like we’ve both been far too trapped and preoccupied by the past, to think of the bigger picture presented to us.”

Val folded her arms tighter, nails digging into her skin. “So ... then ... why?”

“Why what?”

“Why all the remembrance? Why the dwelling on the past? I never thought you’d be the kind of person to have room for that in your life.”

Ymir smiled, but there was no malevolence there. “Are you dissing me?”

“No.”

She looked almost disappointed. “Well, okay. The simple answer was that she was kind to me, so I thought the least I could do was give her anything she wanted -- within my power, of course. And so, I did. Though,” she added with a sigh, “what she didn’t want to be was remembered. Fading into obscurity, perhaps, and leaving people with only fond memories of her, that’s what she wanted. Well, I guess I failed her in that regard.”

While Val was processing that, Ymir picked up another tart and ate it whole, brushing crumbs from her mouth when she was done. “It’s funny,” she said with her mouth full. “Earlier, you said something about how the Bureau wouldn’t like it if they lost me, how they wouldn’t want to risk it. That’s not the funniest part, though. D’you know what the funniest part is?”

Val shook her head; Ymir carried on before her head even stopped moving.

“They didn’t care either way, whether she lived or died before. Just another contractor, just another fruit falling from the Garden, so heavy and ripe and sweet with potential. Ho, hum, just another expendable child soldier turned weaponised adult. What else is new. But then, suddenly, after she’s dead, she’s more valuable to the Bureau than she ever was alive.”

“That’s ...” Val swallowed. “That’s not very funny.”

“Right?” Ymir agreed, her voice far too light and cheerful. “It’s one of the ugliest faces of the Bureau laid out in plain sight, and yet nobody can see it. Or rather,” she added, face darkening, “they don’t want to see it, and wilfully blind themselves to it. I really do mean it in the kindest way possible when I say Mistilteinn was better off dead. Better to be dead than to end up being used by everyone for as long as you live.”

“I didn’t want to lose her then, though,” Val blurted out before she could stop herself. She covered her mouth immediately, aghast at what she'd let slip. Ymir was still staring at her, another pastry midway to her mouth. Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to lose.  “And ... I don’t want to lose you, either.”

“Oh.” Ymir chewed slowly on the tart, and folded up the empty box. “Well, that’s certainly not something I ever expected to hear coming out of your mouth. Or at least, not this soon. Not within this timeframe. I thought it’d be another twenty years, at the least.”

“Shut up,” Val said. Her cheeks were burning, the heat prickling uncomfortably at the back of her neck. “Forget I said anything.”

“If anything, I wish I recorded you,” Ymir sighed, fishing out a serviette from the basket and wiping her fingers. “That’d have been a lovely track to fall asleep to.”

“... and now you just had to make it creepy.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Ymir interrupted loudly, and took a sip of tea. “Especially after all it took to get that sort of confession out of you. Good, good, it’s a start. We’re finally getting somewhere. Maybe one day you’ll finally get more in touch with your feelings. Don’t worry,” she added, patting Val on the arm. “I’ll be here with you, every step of the way. I won't abandon you. You're my darling pet project.”

Val shrugged her off. “What’re you, my therapist? I don’t need a therapist, and I certainly don’t need some dead person monster thinking it can climb into my brain and rummage around as it sees fit. I already have one of those, and he’s called Alphard. But at least he knows when to shut up, sometimes.”

“Therapist?” Ymir repeated, and started to laugh. “Well, yeah, duh. What, you only just caught on? Though,” she added, sobering slightly, “it would probably be a real conflict of interest or go against professional conduct or something. Given my--" she batted her lashes “-- _personal_ investment in you.”

“I could sue for harassment,” Val said, straight-faced. Ymir just started laughing again.

“You’re adorable when you get all flustered like that. Face it, you don’t have things as neatly compartmentalised as you like to think you do. The fact that you feel the need to make some excuse or another to see me every weekend is evidence enough.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ymir made a rude sound that sounded midway between scoffing and blowing a raspberry. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy. People aren’t like that, Kirsi.”

“Don’t call me--"

“Huh?” Ymir blinked lazily, like a cat in the sunlight. “Oh, right, right, can’t go tossing around your name that cavalierly. I forgot. We’re not at that level yet, are we?" She waved her hand. "Fine, have it your way, _Svalinn_. But all I’m saying is, people aren’t machines where you can dump certain things into certain folders, and likewise you can’t package your emotions away nicely and try deleting them or dumping them into some nested clusterfuck of folders in the deepest, darkest reaches of your C drive.” She looked entirely too pleased with herself at the analogy. “What’s wrong with that, anyway? It’s all part and parcel of being alive, of having feelings.”

“I don’t want to have feelings,” Val mumbled.

Ymir threw her hands up in the air, almost knocking over the thermos. Val made a hasty grab for it before it wobbled off the edge of the bench altogether. “You say that, but do you know what it makes you? It makes you worse than being dead. Worse than being a demon, like me. Like our dear pal Alphard. I’m telling you, that’s not a path you want to go down. And even if you do ...” Here, she lowered her voice, face suddenly serious. She leaned in close, close enough for Val to count her pale eyelashes and see the way her pupils had dilated to thin slits in the light. Her eyes were very bright; an eerily artificial mint green that didn’t quite fit on her face. “I’m going to drag you back from there,” Ymir murmured, sounding almost fond and loving, "kicking and screaming all the way. Whether you like it or not.”

Val shivered, a little, trying to convince herself it was from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, or that it was the coldness of the stone seat pressing against the backs of her legs. Ymir sat back and opened up another box, this one filled with tiny sweet pastries crammed with fruit and cream and custard. Once she’d ascertained that Ymir wasn’t going to try the same tactic again, Val let out a deep breath.

“I don’t know why you go on and on saying depressing rubbish like that,” Ymir said, picking out slivers of kiwifruit from her pastry. “I mean, you’re alive. You’ve got ... well, your life is as ... _pleasant,_ shall we say, as it can possibly be. What more do you want?”

“I don't know,” Val said, staring at her shoes. “A sense of purpose would be nice. It’s something a lot of people lost after you went and rampaged around like that.” She got the feeling that Ymir would most likely ignore or pretend not to her the second statement.

“Purpose,” Ymir repeated and snickered. “Purpose, my dear, is a human concept. You don’t _need_ purpose to be alive. Just make the most of it while you can, why are you overthinking things like this?”

“When she ... when you attacked,” Val said and stopped. She squeezed at the hem of her dress, feeding it through her clenched fingers. “At first, I thought, hey, I have nothing to live for. I mean, everything is so pointless. We worked and trained so hard, and for what? To get snuffed out by the likes of you throwing a temper tantrum. I looked at you, bearing down on me, and I thought that was it. And ... well, at the time I didn’t think too much about it, but in the weeks after, I thought ... you know, what would’ve changed if you’d killed me then? Everything I’d done up to that point wasn’t even for myself. I was chasing other people’s ideals, trying to live up to _their_ ideals.” She took a deep breath, twisting the fabric along the edge of her thumbnail. “You showed me that I was powerless, that things like fear and regret were holding me back from being able to act. And in another sense, I had no power. Well, I still have no power, so I guess some things haven’t changed all that much.”

Ymir hadn’t interrupted for a long time -- unusual, by her standards. Val glanced sidelong at her, and then waved her hand in front of Ymir’s face. “Were you listening to a word I just said?”

“Mmmm.” Ymir had already finished off the box of petit-fours and was preoccupied with wiping her fingers on another serviette. Or more accurately, tearing it up. Tiny shreds of thin white paper littered her lap like a downy fall of snowflakes; she seemed intent on ripping some semblance of a pattern onto the folded napkin. “All I heard was, blah blah, existentialism, woe is me, and so on and so forth. What’s up with you today? Why are you so chatty?”

“I went to church,” Val said. She stretched her neck, staring out across the empty courtyard. A crow, perched on the lip of the fountain, gazed beadily back at her, its dark eyes unblinking and unwavering. Its beak parted, but no sound came out. “After work on Friday, I went for vespers and then to confessional.”

Ymir snorted with laughter. “What’s the occasion? Got your hands a bit too dirty in your latest assignment and felt like washing off some of the sin and blood? I didn’t think you went to church.”

Val straightened her back, feeling vaguely judged and insulted. “I don’t. But it’s Easter.”

“Oh, okay. Huh, still, never thought you to be the god-fearing type.”

“Near-death can do that to a person,” Val said icily.

Ymir tittered. “Oh, silly me. It’s all my fault again, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Out of the corner of her eye, Val saw Ymir’s arm move. Something splashed noisily into the still waters of the fountain; Val thought she saw the glitter of copper. It must've been the coin from earlier, the one that'd almost been worn smooth. The crow took off with a cry, its cawing loud and raucous. Some of the pigeons on the fountain’s statues took off too, in a frenzy of startled wingbeats. Val craned her neck, watching the flight of the crow; the shadow of its wings fell over her face, momentarily blocking out the sun. The bird wheeled sharply, claws skimming over the topmost leaves of a hedge; Val could see the sun shining off the glossy iridescent purple-blue-black of its wing feathers.

Ymir tutted a little to herself and returned to intently shredding her napkin. “You know, you’re awfully hung up about power and being powerless,” she said, holding up her handiwork to the light and squinting at it, tongue stuck out of her mouth. “When really, you have all the power that matters.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Ymir sighed impatiently. “I’m talking about me, stupid. Why do you think I’m still here playing nice? I could try breaking out if I really wanted to. Sure, it’d hurt, but I’d recover someday. Eventually.”

“You’re bluffing. Even Vritra can’t break free.”

“Ajna’s old,” Ymir interrupted. “And whatever passes for his brain these days is addled, not just by the starvation. Me?” She spread her arms wide, almost backhanding Val across the side of the head. Val leaned away, pushing Ymir’s tissue paper art project out of her face. “I’m young. It’ll be a while until I settle fully. Sure, it’s never been done, but they underestimate me and my tenacity.” She smiled again, eyes narrowing with amusement. “I’m only here for one reason, and one reason alone.”

Val opened her mouth and then shut it, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer. Ymir’s expression softened slightly. “It’s because of you, stupid. You say fear and regret hold you back? Have you ever thought that, hey, you hold enough power over someone else to hold _them_ back, too?”

“I--"

“I could go anywhere I wanted, if I really wanted to put my mind to it,” Ymir said, not looking at Val. She was staring straight ahead, intently studying the contours of the fountain. After a while, she shook her head and unfolded her napkin, appraising the torn-out pattern with a critical eye. “And yet, here you are, chaining me down more effectively than anything the Bureau can put on me.”

“I,” Val said again.

“As long as you’re here, as long as you’re ...” Ymir trailed off, looking Val up and down with something almost akin to pity. “...  well, _relatively_ happy and safe and alive and the _Bureau_ \--" Her face twisted at the word, teeth bearing down upon its shape “--hasn't thought to throw you away yet, and still thinks they can get some use out of you, I will stay. I’ll play nice, even when their heir comes and tries to sweet-talk me into being more cooperative. I’ll allow them that much. The moment they abandon you, that’s it for me, too. I’ll abandon everything and ransack and ravage their foundations, both literal and metaphorical, and then I’ll take away everything they’ve taken from me. From us.” She leaned back and smiled, sweet and guileless and beatific in the spring sunshine.

Val blinked, feeling the back of her neck prickling in unease. “I’m ... well, I’m ... flattered?”

“The onus is on you, too. Naturally,” Ymir added, still smiling. Her teeth were white and even and very much human, but Val didn’t miss the preternatural sharpness of her cuspids. “You can’t leave, either. What good will that be, if I can’t follow?”

Val’s throat felt dry, like it was closing in on itself. She licked her lips, averting her eyes from Ymir’s. “You just said it’s well within your power to break free.”

“Not without great personal cost,” Ymir purred. “Not without repercussions. You wouldn’t want me to get hurt chasing you ... _would you_? Who even knows what would happen. See, in the other scenario, I have nothing to hold on to after the hypothetical bad ending. But here, I have something to hold on to, something to chase ... and I just might chase it to the ends of the earth, hunt it down and punish it for thinking it can escape me ... hypothetically, of course.”

Val leaned back away from Ymir. She felt cold now, even though there was no breeze and even though the sun was still out. “Are you ... are you threatening me? _Blackmailing_ me?”

Ymir's smile didn't waver; she didn't even have the grace to look contrite. “Make what of it you will. It can hardly be called blackmail if I’m asking you to take care of yourself, especially in the face of those who control us.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s blackmail if you tell me not to leave, and that you’ll kill me if I do,” Val said drily.

Ymir shrugged. “Make what of it you will,” she repeated, and closed her fingers around the tissue paper snowflake she’d shredded. The filmy layers crumpled in her hand. “I only have to say all these things because you’re far too dumb to get it on your own, and I have to patiently spell everything out for you. I’ve waited all these years for you to get it, and you never once did. You kept asking me nonsense like, why I did it. Why I _didn’t_ do it. Why didn’t kill you, when you were so thoroughly in my power that night.” Ymir threw back her head and laughed loudly. “She made me promise, you know. Not to hurt you. She said she’d never forgive me, if I did.” The demon cocked her head to the side, hair spilling over her shoulder in a silvery sheet. “Not that it’d do any damn good if she’s already dead! But I was a good partner. I kept my word. And now, well, I can’t even go back on it.”

Val shook her head, trying to make sense of what Ymir was saying. “Of course you can. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m hardly strong enough to stop you.”

“Ugh!” Ymir jumped to her feet, sending the pile of shredded tissue paper on her lap flying like a flurry of confetti. “There you go again! Going on and on about the same thing! Strength this, power that. You’re really not that different from your family or the rest of those thaumaturgists out there.” She brushed a few more errant scraps of tissue off her knees and continued. “You know, I didn’t think you could be this dumb even after I whipped it out to bash you over the head with it, but I guess you really _are_ that dense. Amazing. Incredible. Congratulations. You’re really quite ridiculous. Y’know what? Forget I said anything. Just pretend it’s another day where we hang out together, existentialism and chill. Isn’t that what the hip kids are all doing? Sure, existentialism and chill. I can do that.”

“You’re angry,” Val said carefully. Ymir snorted.

“Great, and you’re so smart. Your EQ is really off the charts.” Ymir flung herself back into the seat with a distinctly sulky air. She crossed her arms, then seemed to relent enough to remember the macarons still in the basket. Val watched without comment as she fixed the box out with far more delicacy than she’d displayed with any of the others before.  “Well, I guess at least you make up for your shortcomings sometimes,” she sniffed as she gently eased the lid off, “even if you probably don’t even know you’re doing it. Don’t apologise for it, either,” she added warningly when Val opened her mouth. “I really don’t want to hear you apologising for things you don’t understand.”

“Fine then,” Val retorted, feeling both chided and indignant. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Good!”

They subsided into a frosty silence. Ymir made no move to eat the macarons, content to turn the box this way and that, studying the contents and the way they shifted against each other. Val glanced over despite herself. “Aren’t you gonna eat those?”

“Hmm, no. My mood’s been soured.” Ymir sighed and gently stroked the top of the box. “What a shame, too. I was really looking forwards to getting started on these. I guess I can always save them for later. You know.” She sniffed in a put-upon manner. “When there’s nothing to do in bad dragon jail and I’d like to remember the feel of the sun on my face and the taste of the outside world again, in the form of all that sugar and delicious, delicious flavouring dissolving on the tip of my tongue. What time is it?”

Val stared at her, momentarily taken aback. “What?”

“Time,” Ymir repeated, an impatient edge in her voice. “What is it.”

Val checked her watch out of reflex, then fumbled for her phone. “Just after one. Why? You got somewhere to be?”

“Was that sarcasm? You know I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“No,” Val said without looking at her. Ymir smirked anyway.

“Look at you. Getting your old sense of sarcasm back. I miss that old you, before you got all about the existentialism and chill. Though I think I’ve had my share of that today, so if it’s all the same to you, I wanna head back.”

“What, why? You were just complaining about how gloomy and boring and dreary it is. Make up your mind.”

“Hmmm,” Ymir hummed as though she was giving it actual thought. “Nah. This keeps you on your toes. And I wanna get going before a pigeon poops on my head, or something. Don’t _you_ have somewhere else to be?”

“... no, not really.”

Ymir jumped to her feet, cradling her box of macarons like it was a particularly undersize but oddly-shaped baby. “It’s _Sunday_.”

How typical for her to leave everything else for Val to clear up; in that sense, nothing had changed. At least she’d flattened all the packaging and put it in one bag, so Val could just dump the entire lot in for recycling later. “It’s _Easter_ Sunday, it’s different. And in case you haven’t noticed,” Val said as she picked the gift bag and basket up, “I always spend my Sundays with you.”

“Not your entire day! What kinda sadsack spends all their time with a corpse dragon, anyway? That ain’t any way to live your life. Go out, or something. Party hard, have a few drinks, hook up with some guys. Or girls.” She paused, a shit-eating grin stretching across her face. “Or both, whichever floats your boat, though that might be a bit too much action for you to handle. But, hey, I won’t get mad. Then and again, this is you we’re talking about. Go for dinner with some friends, at least? It can be a fancy, grown-up dinner where you do wine-tastings and eat tiny, expensive tapas off very big plates. And naturally, everything will be expensive. But you need to spend some of that hefty hardship salary of yours.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Val said. Ymir fell back slightly to allow her to lead the way; Val swiped her access card at the reader and Ymir trailed after her, retracing their steps back towards the elevators. “Why’ve you got to nitpick and complain so much? I spend time with other people and do other things, you complain. I spend time with you, you also complain. There’s no winning with you, is there?”

“No, of course not.” Ymir beamed and hopped into the elevator. She waited until Val was in too, before leaning closer towards the control panel. “Oooh, d’you think I should press all the buttons? We could go for a ride. It’d be nowhere near as romantic as a Ferris wheel ride, but sometimes you can’t be too picky.”

“We are _not_ riding up and down each and every floor,” Val said, crossing her arms -- with some difficulty, given the things she was carrying. “You’re welcome to walk, if you really want to.”

“Party pooper,” Ymir sighed and backed away from the control panel. Val tapped her card against the reader; the lift hummed into motion with a jolt, starting its descent.

“Say, can I ask you a question?”

Val glanced at Ymir, who was preoccupied with watching the numbers of the readout change slowly, before they stopped moving altogether. She could hear the low whirr of machinery, a welcome undertone to the silence. “Sure,” she said, guarded. “Just as long as it’s not completely pointless.”

“I’d never,” Ymir said, sweet and insincere. “You know me.”

“Unfortunately, I know you far too well.”

Ymir gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. “How rude! I was going to ask you an actual, meaningful question. Why do you still wear that watch, anyway? It’s not even working, and it hasn’t been working for ages.”

Val covered the watch with her hand by reflex, feeling the edge of the dial digging against her clenched fingers. “Who said it’s not working?”

“I’m observant,” Ymir said in a bored voice. “When you have nothing to do all day long, you really take note of the little details. Are you really that strapped for time or cash that you can’t take it in to get repaired?”

“Yes,” Val snapped. “You’re eating me into poverty. To think of all the new watches or watch batteries I could get if I wasn’t feeding you every weekend.” She breathed out sharply through her nose as the elevator lurched a little, as though in reaction to her outburst. Her ears popped; they’d probably crossed to the subterranean levels by now.

“You were wearing that watch that night,” Ymir said without looking at her. “You’ve been wearing it for years.”

Val rubbed the back of her hand, then turned the watch around so that the dial was against the inside of her wrist. “Time didn’t just stand still for you,” she said stiffly. “It stopped altogether for other people. Why are you even asking me this question? You should know who this belonged to.”

“Mm, yes. Back then, I wondered why I couldn’t find it amongst her possessions ... then you showed up for the first time, wearing it. I was just too polite to say anything." Ymir sighed with exaggerated loudness. "She’d always had a strange propensity for men’s watches. Their designs are so clunky. Never really fit well on her.” She glanced up, expressionless. “Or you, for that matter. Still, I never thought you’d be that sentimental.”

“Time stood still for everyone,” Val said through her teeth. “Not just you. As for me, I’m on borrowed time.”

Ymir raised her brows. “Well, that’s an interesting one. Never thought about it before. And, pray, tell, what makes you say that?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’d prefer to hear it from your own mouth.”

The elevator stopped at last. Val stalked out through the doors, not checking to see if Ymir was following her. There was no other option, anyway; the lift would not go back up without authorisation.

Ymir seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I could force you to take me back up,” she said. Her voice echoed strangely; Val had never liked the acoustics of the Sanctum. Ymir stepped closer to her, and rested her chin on Val’s shoulder; she slid her hands along Val’s waist and Val tensed as her fingers came alarmingly close to the tie of her wrap dress.

She relaxed a little when Ymir’s hands moved away from the tie, then stiffened again when Ymir laced the fingers of her right hand with Val’s and stretched her arm out. Ymir edged her other arm over Val’s left shoulder, reaching across her chest, and gently stroked Val’s right shoulder. “I could rip your arm off,” she murmured in Val’s ear, almost affectionate. “Right _here._ ” The tips of her fingers brushed against Val’s bare shoulder, skimming over the joint. “Maybe take your eyes while I’m at it ... such a shame, though. You have such lovely eyes. But then I’d have all the biometric authentication I’d need.”

“You wouldn’t need to go that far.” Val felt light-headed, and hoped the demon couldn’t feel the frantic quickening of her pulse. “You could just assume my appearance.”

“An imitation is never as good as the real thing. Moreover, I wouldn’t be able to fool the life sensors.” Ymir left her go and stepped back.

Val swayed a little, and took several steps forward. She couldn’t hear anything behind her. “I guess you could try it,” she said, “but then you’d just be finishing what you started when you looked me in the eye and decided to let me go.”

“Oho.” Val could hear the soft sounds of footfalls behind her. Ymir’s ankle cracked; Val started at the sound; perhaps that, too, was some affectation of Ymir’s; an act to seem all the more human, all the more misleading. “Don’t be silly.”

“I ran from you,” Val said, setting the bag and baskets down. Her heart was still pounding in her temples; her hands seemed to be shaking -- or maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, in the dim light. “But you could’ve caught me if you’d really wanted to. In the end, I’m only here because of that mercy.”

“Mercy,” Ymir repeated and laughed. It sounded more like the cackle of a hyena. “Oh, that’s rich. _Mercy_ . I have none, _mon chou_.”

Val froze at the endearment; its inflection was the same as she remembered, soft and warm and comforting, like she’d just walked into a pool of warm afternoon sun. If she noticed, Ymir pretended otherwise. “I already told you. It’s only because of the fact that it’s _you_."

Ymir said and sat down cross-legged, chin cupped in her hand. “Anyway, I’m sure today was very enlightening for you, even if you’ve still got that vaguely uncomfortable and dumbfounded look I’ve regrettably come to know so well. You can be off now, I guess. Go on, run along. Have a nice brunch with one of your real friends, I’m sure the Romanova heiress won’t mind. I guess you can take her to far nicer places than you can ever take me.” She sniffed, insincere and theatrical. “Go on, shoo. Isn’t that what kids these days do? Have Sunday brunch at somewhere incredibly hipster and overpriced where they have microbreweries and artisanal coffee and smashed avocados on toast, garnished with pink rock salt gathered from between some mountain ascetic’s smelly, unwashed toes?" She winked when Val pulled a face. "That’s why it’s pink, mind you. All those sores from the stony mountain paths. And they serve you food out of a shovel or a shoe or something? Go do that. Put some meat on your bones.”

She reached up and out, and plucked at a corner of Val’s dress; her hand slid down, resting against Val’s calf. Her skin was cool and smooth, her nails scratching gently against Val’s shin. Val held her breath, but Ymir just pinched gently at the side of her calf, looking disapproving. “Remember what I said about keeping yourself safe and healthy and happy? This is it. You didn’t even eat anything with me.”

“I’m not hungry,” Val said, just as her stomach grumbled quietly. Ymir smiled; it was almost indulgent.

“Sure, okay. Take care of yourself _._ If you don’t, then who will? Just think about what I said.”

Ymir let go of her. At a loss, Val edged away, then took another step back. Ymir extended her arms out over her head, laced her fingers together, and stretched, long and loud and luxuriant. Then she flopped over backwards, sprawling across the floor; her pale hair seemed to coil itself into thick, loose swirls on the reinforced slab. “Think about what I said,” she said again, softer this time. “all of it.”


End file.
